


Cracks in the Ice (It's a Snowdrop Moment)

by Lex_Munro



Category: Firefly, Serenity (2005)
Genre: Brief Violence, Brief swearing, Flower Language, Fluff, M/M, Minor Character Death, Simon is a boob, Spoilers, the crew are fangirls, totally made-up Cobb family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-04 11:49:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4136337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lex_Munro/pseuds/Lex_Munro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When ice cracks, it can sometimes be healed with a little warmth--not back into the same shape, perhaps, but a whole nonetheless.</p><p>Jayne and Simon have made mistaken assumptions and held grudges, but River can tell they would be good for one another, if they'd just stop being such gorram idiots about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cracks in the Ice (It's a Snowdrop Moment)

**Author's Note:**

> sooooooooooooooooooooooooo i was cleaning up my folders and i found this.
> 
> it, uh. it’s more than two years old. yeah. so. me and my forgetting to post. *nervous laughter* °u°;;;
> 
> have some random Jayne/Simon, and completely ignore the making-shit-up-as-i-go i did with Jayne’s barely-mentioned-in-canon family.
> 
> spoilers for Serenity and character backstories.
> 
> Firefly-Chinese: nihao = hello (lit. good day). ma-ma = mama. hundan = bastard (lit. mixed egg). tianna = omg. ge-ge = big bro. shi = yes/that’s right. shagua = idiot/klutz (lit. stupid melon). ta ma de = (negative interjection) (lit. his/your mother). gou shi = dog shit. dong-ma? = understand me?

River noticed that their family was unraveling long before Miranda, long before the fight at the Maidenhead.  Not long after Jubal Early came for her, in fact.

Cracking apart like pieces of ice on an ocean.

Sisters who don’t know what to do, brothers who keep taking the wrong steps.  Daddy yells.  And sometimes he doesn’t.  Mommy never yells, never needs to.  But sometimes she doesn’t argue with Daddy when she should.

In a lot of ways, the cracking started on Ariel, when Jayne peeked at his present and Daddy got _so mad_.

Mal doesn’t like cheaters, and peeking isn’t fair.  Have to wait for morning.

But that little crack could have frozen back over, good as new, if only the Blue-Handed Men hadn’t come again, raising her bounty.

It happens in one of the sluggish moments of clarity.

She walks on her feet and hears with her ears, and it’s one of the best feelings in the ‘verse.  They’re in a quiet corner of the Outer Rim, no sign of Alliance as far as the eye can see, so River is allowed to glimpse sky and taste outdoor air.

But the Two By Two are relentless, and all it takes is exactly the wrong person spotting one of them at exactly the wrong time.

So River and Simon are tied back-to-back on a pair of chairs in a hotel room while the merc waits for the Blue-Handers to arrive.

Little by little.  Little by little.

Because she can only hear with her ears, she can’t tell if Daddy’s coming.

But she believes.

Shepherd Book has been trying to teach her that when things seem unbearable, believing in something makes it easier.  He doesn’t know he’s succeeded.

River believes in her boob of a brother, who does some very stupid things for such a smart man.

And River believes in Malcolm Reynolds.

People talk a lot about gifts.  This one’s a piano prodigy, that one’s a born dancer, that one does long math in her head.  But few people are _truly_ gifted.  Simon can heal anyone.  Everyone thinks he’s just a good doctor, but it’s more than that.  Kaylee can fix any machine.  She keeps Serenity flying long after the ship should have broken down.  River sees and hears and learns and _knows_ without the right bits of her body—with just her brain.  Mal pushes forward.  He survives.  He survives when he shouldn’t.  He survives when anyone else would be dead.

Maybe real gifts are more like curses.

Daddy doesn’t give up.  Not ever.  Keep flying.

She’s part of his crew, and he’ll come for her.  He’ll always come for her.

The cloudiness starts to ebb away, and the confusion of seeinghearingknowing creeps in on her.

The man who took them is with the town’s security group.  His name is Mark O’Hanlon, and he has a girl he’s sweet on at the local whorehouse.  He wants to buy her away from the place with the cut he makes here, just as soon as the gorram Feds show.

Simon’s beautiful brain is racing, thinking of all the brave things he’s ever seen in a holovid, all the tricks he’s watched Mal and Zoe and Jayne pull.  If he can get a little more slack in his ankle, he could try to lift the chair leg up over the rope and kick out.  Then what?  Their captor will be out of easy reach, and they still won’t have a way to cut themselves free.  Maybe the man has a comm unit they could use to wave Serenity…

And then she can see him.

Hands clenched on the back of Wash’s chair.  Jaw flexing.  Eyes blazing.

Someone has taken Daddy’s little girl, and he is _not happy_.

She laughs.  “Daddy’s coming!” she says.  “Daddy’s coming to get us, Simon.  We’ll be home soon.”

Just like last time, Simon doesn’t understand, but she can’t explain it, because she just _did_ , it all makes perfect sense inside her whirly-twirly brain, how can he possibly not understand, it’s the most sensible thing in the ‘verse…

Zoe is beautiful when she kicks down the door.

“Nihao, ma-ma,” River says brightly, but the words are probably lost under the noise of fighting.

Mark O’Hanlon goes down hard, but gropes for another gun.

Zoe points her sawed-off at him.  “That’s my crew you took,” she says.  “To me, they’re worth killin’ for.  You can’t collect your share on a bounty if you make me kill you.  We’re all walkin’ our separate ways outta this room, and your way’ll be in a bodybag if you touch that weapon.”

Mark O’Hanlon keeps his hands in plain sight and grieves for another lost chance to free his beloved.

“Untie ‘em.  Nice ‘n slow.”

When she’s free, River pats Mark O’Hanlon on the cheek.  “Don’t worry, she’s stronger than you think—she’ll wait for you as long as it takes.”

“For a man with such a peaceable calling, you sure get roughed a lot,” Zoe tsks as she dusts off the back of Simon’s coat on their way out the door.

Jayne meets them halfway.  “You all right?” he asks River.

The question makes no sense.  “Don’t I look all right?” she replies, confused.

But back home is suspicion and anger.  Daddy’s mad, he’s _so mad_ …

River tugs at Jayne, tries to hold him back.  “No,” she whispers.  “No, no, no.  Don’t go, no, isn’t safe.”

She remembers what happened last time.

She remembers when Daddy yelled with a mule wrench and an open airlock.

“Gorrammit, girl—”

Confused.  Afraid.  He yanks his arm free, takes three more steps up the ramp.

Pulls up short with a gun in his face.

And River can’t walk.

Simon is talking.  He and Zoe are picking River up and carrying her away while she sobs with anger and hurt and terror.

Without her ears, she hears it.  Without her eyes, she sees it.

“Was it you?” Mal demands, and every inch of him is tense and hard and motionless.

“What?” Jayne says, and his voice shakes.  “What in the ruttin’ hell’re you talkin’ ab—”

“Was it you?!”

The click of the pistol’s hammer echoes louder than Mal’s shout.

Jayne begins to babble.  “What?  No!  No, I—you said turnin’ on them was turnin’ on you, and I wouldn’t—you know I wouldn’t—I swear on my life—I swear on my Momma ‘n my sisters ‘n my brother—”

“You got a price.  It’s always the money, with you.  They first got on this ship, that Fed offered you coin and you told me the money just wasn’t good enough for you to turn on me.”

“Don’t you get it, you damn blind hun dan?!  The money’ll _never_ be good enough!”

“On Ariel you said you got stupid ‘cause it was too good.”

Older hurt, burning fear out with anger.  “Good enough to turn on hi—them.”

The moment is soft and frozen, like newly-fallen snow.

In the warm glow of the galley late at night, Jayne is standing close to Simon, and he’s trying to be charming, and he’s not completely sly, just enough that he’s almost in love with Mal and knows he can’t do anything about it, just enough that Simon is pretty and tempting, but Simon rebuffs him, mocks him, admonishes him for funning with serious matters, calls him bad names, stalks off.

“I don’t believe you,” Mal says quietly.

River only knows she’s screaming because her throat feels raw.

Jayne ignores the stinging in his eyes.  “I don’t give a good gorram what you believe,” he spits.  “They ain’t worth the trouble, and you’ll come around to seein’ that yerself soon enough.  But I didn’t turn on you.  So go on ‘n shoot.  Way I see it, me ‘n God’s square right now.”

Mal puts the gun away, steps aside.  “You just keep to your best behavior.”

The crack is a fissure now.

Jayne doesn’t trust Mal anymore, because now he knows Mal doesn’t trust _him_.

Simon, as always, knows nothing of it.  His eyes are a mirror—always showing River only herself.  All he sees is her.

But Zoe catches Mal aside and talks quietly with him.

‘Sir’ this, and ‘sir’ that, and ‘sir, is there any particular reason why River was screaming to let him in before his blood boiled.’

And Mal doesn’t tell Zoe, and she knows _because_ he doesn’t tell her.  She knows this has happened before, the same but different.  In the days to come, she’ll know why Jayne becomes increasingly rebellious, like a child acting out.

Jayne’s mind becomes like the spring thaw, raging and swift, so River takes shelter in the company of Shepherd Book, whose mind is more like the winter freeze—still raging beneath, but covered with a thick, safe layer of stillness—and Kaylee, whose mind is the innocent tripping of a babbling brook.

Cracks, widening all the while.  It’s beginning to wear on Shepherd Book, who wanted to go out into the ‘verse looking for redemption, and on Inara, who wanted to run away to a quiet place where she wouldn’t be missed.

Inara gets a wave one day; a venerable instructor has retired, and there’s an opening at the training house.  She’s the best, they say.  She could teach so much, they say.  She deserves to be surrounded by comfort when the end comes, they say.

Petulant, hiding it under a veneer of aloof disinterest, Inara tells Mal about the opening.

Stung and sad and already giving up, Mal agrees that it’s a great opportunity, and she should go.

Inara shores up her breaking heart like always, finds the courage that lets her go on with her life like her body’s not a ticking time bomb, uses it to leave in a graceful rush.

She forgets a whole trunk of her things.

Two months later, they touch down in an old farmstead area of Haven, and the Shepherd steps out and breathes deep, and River can _feel_ him put down roots.

The land calls to him.  It’s peaceful here, and the people need a preacher.  He stays at Haven.

They’re all quiet at dinner that night.  Too many empty chairs.

Wash tries to be funny.

Jayne takes his bowl to his bunk.

“Monetary exchange is necessary for sufficient medications.  Long-term illness is expensive.  Of ten percent, five becomes vancomycin and corticosteroids, two becomes food for a family of five, one hides away under the mattress, and the final two becomes maintenance items for projectile weaponry.”

They’re all staring at her.  She wonders how much thinking she’s done aloud.

“Money only matters when you don’t have enough,” she explains.

She wishes they understood.  But none of them were born poor, not _truly_ poor.  Not like Jayne.

The well-fed child suffers immensely at one missed meal, can’t even imagine going days without food.  Can’t imagine going days without food so his little sisters can eat.

(River can.  River has felt the memory of old hunger in Jayne, and the proud sadness of knowing their mother ate the least so that he would have the strength to work.)

Damage done.

Jayne snarls and bites and tries to take River to the Operative, but she takes them to the truth and he gets swept along.

Things fall apart, and people they love die, and somehow, someway…Mal keeps them flying.

It’s better now, with Inara around again to keep Daddy’s attention, and with Simon being less of a boob now that he’s figured out he can have his own life.

River misses the welcome, easy reaches of Wash’s mind and the vast iced-over channels of Book’s.  But there’s a new mind, simple and pure, where Zoe’s hand rests absently over her belly.  And there’s renewed belief calming the rushing thaw of Jayne’s mind, because watching Mal become passionate about something is beautiful and moving.

_They will come back to the idea that they can make people…better.  And I do not hold to that._

The cracks are slowly filling again.  Not the same shape as before, but a whole, nonetheless.

Family.

River wishes Mal understood what she understands, and she wishes her brother wasn’t such a boob, and she wishes Jayne had a little more courage.

Mostly, she wishes the doctor on Bixton had Simon’s gift, because it’s not pneumonia.  She tries everything she can think of (short of hijacking the ship again) to hurry to Jayne’s old home.

If she can just get Simon to little Matty…

But they’re too late.  They arrive a week after a bad coughing fit stopped Matty’s breathing for good.

Looking around at the tiny town, at the lean living these people scrape together, they all suddenly understand.

Money only matters when you don’t have enough.

They become pity, briefly, and then they become contrition.

Oh, how badly we misjudge others.

It’s early spring, starting to warm.  It’s a beautiful, chilly green morning when they put ‘Matthias Branwell Cobb’ in the ground.  River borrows one of Inara’s dresses and weaves a crown of daffodils to throw onto the little coffin.

“Narcissus means ‘the sun is always shining when you’re here,’” she says absently.  “But narcissus triandrus means ‘the angels are crying for you.’”

The town may be poor, but there are flowers everywhere in the churchyard.  Three kinds of narcissus, plus late snowdrops hiding among the Angel’s Tears.  Snowdrops mean ‘hope.’ 

Most of the mourners are a tired puddle of relief, of _finally, that poor child can rest_.  Jayne’s sisters are sad and lonely, except for the oldest one, who is a selfish and pragmatic spike of _maybe we can eat more than one meal a day now_.  Jayne and his mother blur together in a knot of regret and self-recrimination.  They blame themselves.  There is a blank space between Jayne and his sisters that is occupied by only a faceless name in their minds:  Darla, who is grown up and ran away before Matty was even born.

When River looks at Mal, his eyes are on the daffodils, yellow stars slowly being clouded over with brown.  He blames himself, too.  Delaying when she told them to hurry.  Calling Jayne greedy in his head when he really was sending seven of his ten percent to his mother.

Simon’s brain is rattling over the diagnosis the town’s doctor gave.  Persistent cough.  Recurring fever, chills, shortness of breath.  Low blood pressure.  Crackles.  But the father’s family has a history of heart failure, and the people here cook over wood-burning indoor ranges, often with poor ventilation.  No family history of chronic damp lung, aside from patient.  Makes COPD unlikely.  Probably pulmonary edema.  He has the right meds on the ship.  He could have saved this boy.  Could have saved him.  Could have stopped two little girls crying, could have stopped a mother from looking like she’s ready to give up, could have stopped the hopeless way Jayne just stands there and won’t talk and won’t cry.

River takes her silly brother’s hand and squeezes.  “The past is past,” she tells him.  “Accept the things we cannot change.”

And then they’ve dispersed, like snowflakes on wind.

All that’s left is Jayne in his best shirt and Simon in his dark coat.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get here in time,” her boob brother says.

“Way I remember, we was on the same ride in,” Jayne excuses him gently.

Simon is tactful enough not to point out the difference—that Jayne couldn’t have actually helped.  “Come back to the ship.  I’d like to examine your heart and lungs—I’m fairly certain that your brother’s illness was partly genetic.”

Slowly, Jayne turns.  It’s a snowdrop sort of moment, pushing up through snow.  River feels his comprehension like puzzle pieces clicking into place.  This is Simon’s way of saying ‘I’m worried about you.’

And then Simon reaches for a real snowdrop, plucks it, fiddles with it.  “Back on Earth-that-was, a certain society began to use flowers as a way to send coded messages.  In that ‘flower language,’ snowdrops stand for consolation.”  He tucks the flower into the lapel of Jayne’s jacket.  “I’m sorry for your loss.  The other members of the crew…they don’t know what it’s like to be someone’s older brother.  I can’t think of anything more painful than the feeling that you’ve failed in your duty as an older sibling.”

They look at each other for a while before Jayne lets Simon lead him back to Serenity.

In the blue-white of the infirmary, coats off, they move in silence.  Ulnar pulse (and Simon’s gift is strong enough that he can guess at blood pressure just from this), fibular pulse (to check the peripheral arteries), stethoscope under Jayne’s best shirt.

“Two deep breaths—in…and out…in…and out.  Good.  Right side, two more—in…and out…in…and out.”

From her lounging spot in the catwalks, River feels the bashful moment when Simon looks up into Jayne’s eyes and they both realize how close they are, so close they could kiss if they’d stop being such gorram damsels about it, and Simon’s bottom lip is tingling.

Jayne thinks, _You made fun afore; what’s got you so interested this time?_

Simon thinks, _I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m an idiot, what am I doing, what about Kaylee, he has such beautiful eyes, I’m such an idiot, someone please walk in before I—_

“Y’all gonna kiss, or what?” Mal asks.

Simon doesn’t quite jump, but he does one of his all-over tenses, where even his brain goes (as Kaylee put it) ‘all stiff.’  “Very funny, Captain.  I simply assumed, perhaps foolishly, that you wouldn’t want your gun-arm to die slowly and painfully from a treatable ailment the way his brother did.”  _I don’t_ , he doesn’t add aloud.

 _I don’t know what you want_ , thinks Jayne.

 _Idiots_ , thinks Mal.  He wags a thumb toward the forward stairs.  “Zoe’s mood-swingin’ her way through some bafflin’ craving, and she demanded your immediate presence.  And then Mrs. Cobb mentioned vittles in roundabouts another five or ten minute—she’ll tan us all for rugs if we don’t get Jayne back by then.”

“As soon as I finish up here,” Simon promises.

So Mal flits off to hide in the cockpit until Zoe’s hormonal ire subsides.

When they’re alone again, Simon sets his stethoscope aside.  “Somewhere slightly more metropolitan—maybe New Bannon—we should be able to see about getting you a CT scan.  Have you had pneumonia or flu a lot?  Any incidences of shortness of breath?”

“Had the flu coupla times,” Jayne answers with a shrug.  “No coughin’ or none.  Only short of breath with cracked ribs, really.”

Because Jayne was always working when dinner was being cooked, only spent long enough at home to eat and sleep before he went right back to work, and then a merc crew saw him shoot a wolf from horseback and he only breathed the smoke once a year for his mother’s birthday after that.

“That’s a good sign.”  A note on a piece of paper, destined to be filed into a binder that Simon keeps about the crew.  “Our bounty was pretty substantial by Ariel.  I imagine it could have bought a lot of vancomycin.”

Jayne opens his mouth, discards a few responses before settling on, “Was hoping it woulda bought him a trip to a real doctor.  So _stupid_ I never thought o’ you.”  He rubs at the back of his neck.  “You, I bet you coulda had him runnin’ races inside a week.”

 _But_ , River mouths, outside on the catwalk, just as Jayne hesitantly says the word.

Simon turns, leans back against the counter, hands braced, eyes soft.

“But it wadn’t just the money,” Jayne murmurs, too ashamed to meet Simon’s gaze.  “I wanted to hurt you.  And she’s the surest way.  And for just a minute, I thought to myself…‘who’s the backwoods inbred son of a pig now, Doc?’  Didn’t matter it was gutless, turnin’ on a sick little girl, I just…wanted to hurt you back.  Big man, huh?  Momma woulda never looked me in the eye again, if’n she’d got wind o’ that.  And the stupid greedy Fed cut me out, anyhow, and then Mal went ‘n…well, doesn’t matter none.”

Simon’s mind races.  _Backwoods inbred…  Tianna, did I ever say that?  When did I ever…_

For Jayne, the memory is new snow.  For Simon, it’s hot sand in the crevices.

Jayne’s eyes are so blue, and when he’s had a little to drink with supper, he tells funny jokes, and it makes Simon think of Medacad.  For all that he’s crude and ignorant and unrefined, he’s handsome and, yes, maybe even a little charming when he smiles like that…  And then in a waft of wine-scented breath, he’s mocking again, propositioning like Simon’s some Outer Rim whore, stupid homophobic gorilla with his outdated ideas of gender roles telling him that men can’t be pretty.  He shoves hard, tells the knuckle-dragging idiot to keep his sexual harassment to himself, calls him all kinds of things, calls him—

_Backwoods…inbred…son of a pig.  I did say that._

“T-to be fair, when I said—when I called you that—” Simon tries.

“I’d had a few, I know.  But you coulda just said ‘no thanks.’”  Jayne presses his hands and knees together, like a boy in the principal’s office.  “I know I don’t look like much—hell, I _ain’t_ much, but I take ‘no’ fer an answer.  Ain’t never forced nobody, and don’t ever mean to start.  Anyhow, I’m sorry for Ariel.  I just wanted to tell you the whole of it, just once, and apologize for it all of a piece, proper-like.  I’m sorry I wanted to hurt you so bad I dragged River into it.” 

_No, me, I’m sorry, I’m the one, I read it all wrong, I’m such an idiot, I thought you were—it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t, I’m sorry, God, I’m such an idiot, I should just, I’ll walk over there right now and I’ll, but what about Kaylee, I could, nobody would stop me, I could walk right over and…_

“No, it’s—I—”  But Simon’s always had trouble getting the words in his head to come out of his mouth (except under extreme duress, when it all comes out as sarcasm).  “I should be the one—I—”

His stammering reminds River of the way Kaylee slipped into sobbing incoherence when Jubal Early surprised her in the engine room.  So human.  Brain running around in circles so fast the mouth can’t keep up.

_I could, right now, I could walk over, I could kiss him, and nobody—his lips look so soft—_

With a rattle of metal, Kaylee barrels down the steps and tucks close to the doorframe.  “Um.  Hi.”  She flashes a smile for just a moment.  “Uh, Doc, y’might wanna go up and see to Zoe afore she punches a hole through somebody.  My Aunt Jolene got mean like that when she was knocked up—terrorized every man for miles around.”

“Thanks fer the checkup, Doc,” Jayne mutters, and ducks out.

River rolls her eyes.  “Such a boob, Simon,” she sighs.  Then she gets to her feet and heads up.

Zoe is happily stirring canned peas into a bowl of almost-chocolate-icing.  She has tear-tracks on her face, but she was dry-eyed at the funeral.

“Is she, uh…” says Kaylee.

Simon makes a note of Zoe’s latest craving.  “B complexes,” he tells her.  “Peas are amazingly good for a pregnant woman’s health.”

“Whatever I want ‘em for, they’re deliciousch,” grunts Zoe with her mouth full.  “Y’want schome, Kaylee?”

Kaylee tries to hold back a bad face.  “Oh, gosh.  Naw, you keep ‘em fer you ‘n the baby—I’ll stuff myself at the wake.”  And she smiles her big, sweet smile.

“I’m gonna up your thiamin and your vitamin K,” Simon announces as he scribbles another note.  “See if that cuts down on some of the cravings.  How’s your morning sickness lately?”

“Fine, as long as I don’t run outta pickled ginger.”

“Good.”

River sniffs Zoe’s bowl.  Flat, canned, over-boiled smell, plus cocoa powder.  Most strange.  “The average can of peas contains twenty-six percent of an adult’s daily value of vitamin K and nine percent daily value of thiamin per four-ounce serving.  Also sixteen percent of dietary fibers, good for digestion.  But up to thirty-six percent of vitamin A.  Too much vitamin A can and has been known to result in birth defects during pregnancy.  Of course, to reach dangerous levels from a single source, you’d have to eat a hundred ounces of peas every day for the duration of the pregnancy.  Possibly more, since ma-ma’s fat ratio is low.”

“Still,” says Simon.  “That’s why I’m changing the vitamin balance—so that she won’t crave it to the point that she builds up a vitamin toxicity.  If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go pack my bag.”

“What for?” Kaylee calls as he heads back to the infirmary.

“Pulmonary edema presents with increased frequency within similar genetic groups such as immediate family,” River replies.  “A defect in the function of the heart leads to buildup of fluid in the lung cavity, leading to pneumonia and pneumonia-like symptoms, and may result in failure of the heart or lungs.  The condition can be aggravated by the use of indoor cookfires and the presence of environmental contaminants.”

“Such as might be seen in a dusty little town with shoddy environmental scrubbers,” Zoe says.  “And such as might take the life of a little boy whose father died of a heart attack.”

“Gonna check the girls, ain’t he,” Kaylee guesses.

When it’s time, they all gather at the ramp and walk to the house together.  There are tables set out in the yard—planking on sawhorses, but with nice white cloths draped over—covered in food.

“Wake,” says River.  “In insulated communities, guests bring food to the mourners to provide for them while they’re unable to work.  Originally, when lingering brain damage was undetectable, held before the funeral as a period of time during which the family would make joyous noise to see if the decedent would rouse, to prevent live burial.”

The preacher inches away from her.  An older woman offers a plate.

River takes some food for politeness, but gravitates toward her brother.  Brothers.

“—would like to briefly examine your daughters, ma’am, because the ailment that took your youngest son is usually genetic.”

“ _Examine_ ,” huffs Mrs. Cobb, tired and slightly affronted at the idea of such a _young_ man putting his hands on her daughters.  “Doc Hodges already seen to ‘em; ain’t a one of ‘em got the damp lung, and it’s contagious, anyways, not genetic.”

“Your son didn’t die of pneumonia,” Simon insists quietly.  “If it had been pneumonia, the medicine Dr. Hodges was prescribing would have cured him within two weeks.  But Matty’s been sick for years, hasn’t he?  The medicine helped, but he still didn’t get well.”

“Please, Momma,” Jayne says.  “Simon here’s a _fancy_ doctor—Core trained, top o’ the class, a _surgeon_.  He saves lives, it’s his job.  Now please let him do it.”

One of the girls who cried is behind River, admiring the borrowed dress.

Rosie, seven, hates her scratchy Sunday clothes, wouldn’t mind them if they were as nice as the skinny girl’s.

River turns.

Big blue eyes, winging brows, a nose that will be just-the-right-length when she grows up.

“You came on the ship,” Rosie says.  “With ge-ge?”

“Shi.”

“Your dress is ever-so-nice.”

“You see the lady with the ruby earrings?” River asks, pointing to where Inara stands at Mal’s side, lovely in bronze and black.

“Uh-huh.”

“I borrowed it from her.”

Rosie fidgets with her skirt.  “She’s so fanciful.  Like a princess in a storybook.”

Simon is listening to the middle sister’s breathing now, and Rosie becomes a little bloom of fear.

“Simon’s a good doctor,” River assures the young girl.  “He fixes people.”

Rosie stands on tiptoe and whispers in River’s ear.  “Would he tell Momma if we need fixin’?”

River considers little Rosie, and feels a sudden tightness high in the middle of her chest.  “You have trouble breathing sometimes,” she suddenly knows.  “It hurts—”  She puts her hand over the spot.  “—right here.  You pretend you don’t want to play sometimes, because you feel like you can’t catch your breath.  Don’t be afraid.  Come with me.”

Hand out.  To Rosie, she looks like another princess; like Inara’s little sister, maybe.  So Rosie clings and follows.

River watches the older two girls.  The middle one, Lenore—gawky and long-limbed and well-meaning.  The oldest, Emma—dry-eyed and hard-hearted at the tender age of fourteen.  Lungs and hearts in good working order.

Simon is feeling Emma’s blood pressure when River brings Rosie, but he looks up—he looks up, because it’s River, and he’ll always look up for her.

“This one,” she says.  “This is Rosie.”

Simon leaves Emma’s examination half-done, trusting River’s word.  “Rosie?  I’m Simon.  Have you ever had a cough like Matty’s?”

She shakes her head.

“But it’s hard to breathe sometimes, isn’t it?” he guesses, pressing his stethoscope to her scratchy Sunday dress.  “It gets all tight like someone’s hugging you too hard.  This is why—here, have a listen.”

When the earpieces are arranged, Simon holds the stethoscope in place.

“Sounds like someone crinkling wrapping paper, doesn’t it?”

“I got wrappin’ paper in my chest?” Rosie asks, confused.

Chuckling, Simon takes his stethoscope back and digs in his bag.  “No, little one.  It’s more like the noise you make when you’re trying to get the last of the juice out of a drink pouch.  There’s liquid in your chest keeping your lungs from filling up all the way.  Luckily, I happen to have some medicine that will make you all better.”

River looks at Emma, who doesn’t like this at all.

_More medicine.  We can’t eat medicine._

“Will I have to get a shot?” Rosie frets.

“It only stings for just a little bit, I promise.  No needles.”  He presses a hypo to the inside of her elbow.  It hisses as he presses the button.

“That weren’t nothin’!” Rosie says with a proud grin.  “Not even a bee sting!”

“Just a spray of that once every two weeks for the next couple of months, and you’ll be fine.  Then I’ll come check on you again, and if you’re doing well, we’ll switch you to a different medicine that will keep this from happening.”  He stands to talk with Mrs. Cobb.  “It’s a very inexpensive preventative medicine, frequently prescribed to the elderly back in the Core.  If you have any trouble getting it, we can always bring you supplies.”

“He looks like Prince Charming,” Rosie confides to River.  “He’s so pretty and nice.”

“He’s my ge-ge,” River says.  “He’s the best there is.”

“Nuh-uh, not better ‘n _my_ ge-ge,” Rosie protests.

“Probably a tie,” River concedes, watching the relief on Jayne’s face.  “Jayne is a _very_ good ge-ge.”

And then Jayne is gratitude, and wonder.  Jayne is _ta ma de, you’re amazing_ and _was Mal ever this amazing_ and _why can’t I fall in love with plainfolks_.

Kaylee edges up and points discreetly toward Zoe.  “Uh, Doc, should she oughtta be eatin’ that?”

The mixture of food is barely identifiable as some kind of peach pastry with hashbrowns and some kind of sauce.

River can’t help but giggle at what goes through Simon’s mind.

_Ew, that’s disgusting, niacin, vitamin C, thiamin, is she really eating that, folate, iron, I’m gonna be sick…_

“Um, she…” Simon starts and nods a little.  “It’s.  Good for the baby.”  He gives Kaylee a reassuring smile.

Later, River is painstakingly folding the borrowed dress while Kaylee helps Inara take jeweled combs out of her hair.

“Rosie liked your dresses,” River says.  “Just like a princess in a storybook.”

“Aw, that’s sweet,” says Kaylee.  “Rosie was the little one, right?”

Up in the cockpit, Mommy and Daddy are talking about headings and courses.

Down in the passenger dorms, Simon’s putting his bag away.

“Thanks a bunch, Doc,” Jayne says.

“No, that’s okay, it’s, I…”

And there they are again, accidentally so close.

_His eyes are so blue…_

“I became a doctor to help people,” Simon says in a hushed voice.  A piece of his hair is out of place from the chilly breeze, and it makes Jayne want to muss the rest.

“Means a lot to me anyhow,” Jayne replies.  “Means the world t’me.”  And he smiles.

And Simon’s brain turns to mush.

_Ohgodohgod, I’ve got to kiss him, I’m going to kiss him, I’ve got to kiss him—_

When it’s done properly, kissing is a matter of opposing weights tilting together in balance.  Soft breath and tingling emotion and a little bit of wetness.

It shouldn’t involve a clumsy collision of noses and a rush of pained apologies and a burst of shared laughter.

“Is that…Simon and _Jayne_?” Kaylee asks, frowning as she looks toward the door of Inara’s shuttle.

“Well, if they’re both laughing, they can’t have killed each other,” Inara hazards.  “River?”

“The logistics of negotiating pleasant mouth-to-mouth contact get more complicated when you throw in old-fashioned gender-typed concepts of strength and dominance,” says River.

They stare at her.

“Boys are klutzes at kissing each other,” she clarifies.  “He accidentally gave Jayne a bloody nose.  Social awkwardness stemming from mutual failure in appropriate romantic advances can be entertaining.  Want to go watch them be idiots?”

No one moves for a few seconds.

In unison, all three girls scamper as quietly and quickly as possible for the door.

Simon’s voice starts to drift out to them as they slink into the lower-level lounge.  “No, really, just hold still a minute—that’s your best shirt, isn’t it?  Don’t want it to stain…”

River can feel the softness of a damp swab from Simon’s bag, chilly and smelling of hydrogen peroxide as it sweeps over Jayne’s mustache.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Simon says, but he can’t completely stifle a snicker at the end.

“Ain’t that funny,” chides Jayne.

“No, I’m not laughing at you, I promise.  I’m laughing at myself…total shagua.  You know, I haven’t bumped noses since my Academy days, drunk and trying to steal my roommate’s boyfriend.  The time before that, I was even more drunk, and it was his _girlfriend_ I was trying to steal.  I don’t think I’ve ever done it hard enough to give a guy a bloody nose before.”

“That’s the secret to keepin’ you from gettin’ kicked around, then—let you try ‘n kiss the fella.”

“You jerk!” laughs Simon.

“Ah, you know you like it, pretty boy.”

Mal and Zoe come looking for River.  Kaylee gestures frantically for silence just before Mal can ask what they’re all doing.

By now, they’re all hovering just outside Simon’s door.  The two men are faced perpendicular to the door, visible in silly-sweet profile.  Jayne’s head is tipped up slightly while Simon finishes cleaning away blood.  Simon is smiling like a goof, young and happy and so very pretty.

“You got the most amazing smile,” Jayne says, perhaps a little bashfully.

“I hope you’re not fishing for compliments,” Simon cautions, but he’s still grinning, and leaning in closer.  “Because the only thing about you I find amazing is that you don’t have a bigger bounty than River ever had, you hideous man-ape-gone-wrong.”

“Y’all gonna kiss, or what?” Mal says, loudly, for the second time today.

Four women jeer and hit his arms.

Jayne is blushing to have been caught being romantic in front of people.  Simon is hiding his face in his hands.

“Kaylee,” he says.  “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” the mechanic says.  “I got a great view from here, go back to what you was doin’.  Nevermind the Cap’n, we can duct tape his mouth ‘n throw ‘im in the hold if it comes to it.  I read me this novel once, had good descriptions ‘n everything, so I could prolly shout directions if you need ‘em.  Inara, d’you know about this kinda thing?  How long till they get to the shirt-rippin’ stage?”

“Knowing Jayne, I’d half-expected them to be beyond that stage by the time we got here,” Inara admits.

“Y-you read a novel about…” Mal sputters.  “Why in the ‘verse would a woman want to read about…about…”

Zoe shrugs.  “Well, sir, I imagine it’s much the same as the thinkin’ behind a man admirin’ two ladies together—if one’s nice, two could be twice as nice.”

Mal gapes.  “I’m—I’m on a ship full o’ perverted voyeur-ladies!”

“The feminine form of the word ‘voyeur’ is ‘voyeusse,’” River corrects.

“Tianna…” Simon moans from behind his hands.

“Outta curiosity, Jayne, what were your immediate plans on the subject?” Zoe asks.

“Ooh, was it gonna start with shirt-rippin’?” asks Kaylee.  “Or was there gonna be more kissin’ first?”

“Dunno,” Jayne drawls, dabbing at his nose.  “The kissin’ part weren’t too safe the first time.  But I was thinkin’ there might be some bitin’, a ripped shirt, and a distinct lack o’ necessity for pants.”

“I can’t know that!” Mal wails, hands over his ears.

“I could stand t’hear more,” Kaylee says brightly.

Still hiding behind his hands, Simon laughs and mutters something about wanting to shrivel up like a salted slug and fall into the deepest pit he can find.

River holds up her hand for silence.

They all look at her (except Simon, who’s moved on from falling into a pit to an elaborate plan to flee and become a hermit).

“Simon is my brother,” she says calmly.  “He is very precious to me.  I wish you both every happiness.  But if you break his heart, I’ll break your legs.  And then I’ll dismantle all your guns and hide the parts on separate worlds.  Then I’ll maroon you on Whitehall.  Just so you know.”  And she punctuates this threat with a smile.

“Now, that ain’t fair,” laments Jayne.  “I ain’t got a sister on board—who’s gonna do somethin’ if _he_ breaks _my_ heart?”

“Well, I would threaten ‘im,” says Kaylee.  “But he’s just so…delicate-like.  A good kneecappin’ with my number four spanner might chop him clean off at the legs.”

“I could threaten to make cutting remarks,” Mal offers.  “And kick him off, seein’ as it’s my ship.”

Zoe steps forward.  “I got this,” she says lightly.  She walks up beside Simon and rubs his back.  “Tellya what, Doc.  Jayne may be a trained ape absent the training…but he’s on my crew—”

“ _My_ crew!” yelps Mal.

“—our crew,” Zoe goes on smoothly, smiling all the while.  “And he’s been on our crew a sight longer’n you have.  He’s like the idiot son you don’t tell your friends about.  But he’s _our_ idiot son.  Now, I learned a lotta things in the war.”  She chuckles a little, and gives Simon’s back a companionable slap.  “Why, I even know how to turn a man’s valuables inside-out with the top off a can o’ beans.  Looks like a gizzard.  Found that out once when a piece o’ gou shi purple-belly caught me nappin’ and tried to rape me.  I’m not sayin’ we’d get rid of ya, Doc—a surgeon’s too precious out here in the black—but there’s some near-and-dear parts a surgeon don’t strictly need intact to do his job, and it’d sure be a shame for you to fall outta my good graces.  Dong-ma?”

Slowly, Simon lowers his hands.  “That mental image can join my Academy memories of STI visual diagnostic aids in a mental drawer marked ‘do not open except in dire emergencies.’”

“Really?” Inara asks Zoe, impressed.  “A can of beans?”

“Yep,” says Zoe.

“Shiny,” says Kaylee.

“I’m on a ship full o’ _mean ‘n scary_ perverted voyeur-ladies…” mutters Mal.

They scatter to their various business, giving Simon and Jayne some semblance of privacy (Inara and Kaylee drag Mal away while Zoe goes in search of food).  River is the last to leave the passenger dorms, slipping into the infirmary and pressing against the bulkhead to soak up the beautiful feelings blossoming on the other side.

 _Human lives are so fragile_ , Simon thinks, accompanied by a panicked vision of might-have-been, of Jayne coughing blood while he suffocates by inches.

“I’m sorry,” Simon murmurs.

“It’s already stopped bleedin’,” Jayne dismisses.

“No, not…”  After a slow breath, Simon reaches out, touches, catches Jayne by the elbows and forces himself to look bravely into those eyes he finds so fascinating.  “I’m sorry I dismissed you before.  I’m sorry that I made assumptions and hurt you so badly that you would resort to—”

“I think I love you,” Jayne interrupts, because it’s true and because thinking about Ariel makes him feel so ashamed he could die.

Simon stops thinking in words.  His thoughts turn into fireworks, explosions of primary colors, bursts of joy and shock and disbelief.  This time, he cups Jayne’s jaw between his palms to aim properly.

Jayne becomes hope.

River falls asleep curled on the countertop in the infirmary, smiling contentedly.


End file.
